Eloise

The sound of my voice screaming his name sounds alien. Not inhuman. Just like an entirely different person. It doesn't sound like me.

The sound he makes as he thrusts, his size, the scent of him — so utterly unlike Oliver in every way — makes me feel apart from the moment. Another out-of-body experience. I feel dizzied and faint, my brain about ready to break apart.

Pinning me against the wall he continues to move in deep long strokes inside me — powerful thrusts which threaten to split me wide open. It's not painful but I feel it should be. I feel like this should hurt, that it's what I deserve. But it doesn't hurt. Far from it. He feels warm and comfortable. Like a deep deep itch that's finally being scratched. It feels soothing. He feels soothing.

His mouth finds mine again and I bite hard on it, thinking that at least one of us should hurt. I'm not sure if this does hurt him because all he does is groan louder, thrust harder — the exquisite feel of him pulling me further away from myself, further into him. He grits his teeth with the strain of holding me and fucking me but he doesn't slow and he doesn't waver, his arms strong and reliable. Slowly, I feel my insides begin to thrum and vibrate, and as though he's responding to it he quickens his pace, faster and deeper, harder, rougher. Deep male groans ripping from his throat on each inward push, my insides scattering a little more.

His teeth scrape at my lips, his tongue licking my mouth, biting, sucking, growling. Greedy desperate motions that tell me he's on the verge of losing control of this. Sudden and shocking is the feel of my own orgasm. There's no warning for it, not like there usually is. It's quick and unexpected and I push against him but it's not to push him away, it's to intensify the friction between our bodies, the delicious agony that is his cock deep inside me. As the white-hot pleasure washes over me I grip onto his shoulders, my nails digging into the flesh, and ride him harder.

I open my eyes to find him watching me transfixed, his body still moving rhythmically into and against my own, but completely focussed on my climax. Then I feel it. His entire body tenses and begins to shudder, trembling with the rise of his orgasm. With one hand wrapped almost possessively around my neck, I feel it shudder through his whole body. He pulls my head towards him and smashes his mouth against mine to kiss me again he empties himself inside my body.

Stretched moments of panting against each other's mouths, licking each other's tongues, biting each other's lips. His orgasm seems to last hours. Hours of him saying no words, hours of me saying only one over and over — his name. Hours of him throbbing inside me, comfortable and warm. He's settled so deeply inside me, so snuggly, that it scares me a little thinking about how empty I'll feel when he leaves me.

As his body and breathing slow, he breaks away from my mouth and lifts his eyes to meet mine. His grey-blue eyes glitter with lust and satisfaction, but almost instantly his expression changes. The look that comes over his face then is horror.

"Eloise, what's the matter?" He asks, afraid. "Why are you crying? No, fucking hell, no." He goes to withdraw from me but I tighten my thighs around his body to hold him inside me. I'm crying? What the hell?

"What? No, I'm fine, I just... I don't know." I lean forward and press my mouth gently to his, hoping it backs up my words. "I'm fine. I promise I'm fine." I try a weak smile before lowering my head to bury my face in his neck. His scent is strongest here I think. Cleanliness and cotton with a masculine sweet undertone not unlike talcum powder. It floods into my bones relaxing me, softening and mellowing them further.

"Did I hurt you?" He asks, his voice scratchy and raw with fear. "Fuck, Eloise, please tell me I didn't hurt you?" I feel the soft touch of his mouth against the back of my neck. A comforting desperate gesture.

"You didn't hurt me, Aidan," I promise. I'd never felt less hurt in my life. I feel soothed and whole. Especially with him still inside me, large and warm. So warm.

"Then why are you crying?" His voice is so soft against the skin on my neck. His accent is always that little bit stronger when his voice is in the lowest decibels. How the hell do I answer that? Why the hell am I crying? I didn't even know I was until he told me.

Because I don't want to tell him that I just shrug my shoulders and kiss the side of his neck — delighting in the warm spread of his salty skin across my tongue.

He lets out a deep breath and steps away from the wall, shifting his grip on me to give him a better, more secure, hold of my body. Then, still buried inside me, he steps carefully out of his discarded jeans and walks with me in his arms toward his bedroom, taking the three steps with a strong easy grace. As we get to his bed I tense, wondering what he's going to do now — not quite ready for him to leave my body. To my relief, he angles us both down onto his bed, me on my back and him on his knees above me.

As he does this I open my eyes, taking this moment to look at his face. His flawless, beautiful, perfect face. Each feature seemingly constructed to be worshipped. A mouth so pink and inviting that I'd had no real chance against it. A long straight nose, which if you looked very closely — and with Aidan, I was always looking very closely — fell to the right a little at the tip. It had been broken once presumably and set back again with a pair of sure hands. His eyes, which had haunted my every waking moment since I'd first looked into them. Large, inviting pools of intensity that made me feel like the only woman he'd ever been remotely interested in looking at with them. I've truly never seen a man as beautiful as Aidan Foley. Beauty he seems to be mainly unaware of. A fact which only serves to make him even more beautiful in my opinion.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper as he lifts the hem of his t-shirt to pull it over his head. Though I'd been thinking it, I hadn't meant to utter the thought aloud.

He stops moving and smiles down at me, his line of perfectly straight white teeth peeking out below his top lip. "That your line to get me into bed?"

The giggle breaks out of my throat and I cover my mouth with the back of my hand before nodding up at him.

"Absolutely," I nod.

He gestures his arms out indicating the bed. "I'm so fucking easy," he chuckles before pulling the t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. Still damp from the shower, his hair curls deliciously in chestnut brown twists that make my fingers itch with the need to run themselves through it. He shifts, slowly releasing himself from my body, and immediately I feel cold and a little lost from the absence of him. The sight of his topless form above me helps make up for it somewhat.

Strong broad shoulders, thick upper arms, pectorals slightly pronounced leading down into the hard ridges across his flat stomach. I know his back is strong and muscular too because I'd watched him undress for the shower like some dirty pervert. I also know his bum is perfectly round and tight, and that it could make my teeth ache with the deviant desire to bite it. Aidan lifts my left leg and proceeds to kiss his way from the instep of my foot to my up my upper thigh. When he reaches the apex he glances up down at me, an intense look on his face.

"I had a dream about being here you know," he says quietly, settling down onto his stomach between my legs. He proceeds to tickle the top of my thigh with his beard, skimming his cheek over it before planting a kiss on it, his mouth dangerously close to where I want it.

"You did?" I pant. Christ, he's so close. His mouth. There. I need it there.

"Mhmm." Another soft little lick. Then a nibble. "Last night."

I tilt my head to the side on his pillow to give me an easier time of peering down at him. He dreamt about his mouth on me there. Last night? Oh god...

"Open wider," he urges softly pushing gently at my thighs. When my body resists him he stops and leans up, eyes curious but lust-filled. "Is there a magic word?" he asks. His serious face hides a smile.

I bite my lip and shake my head. "Not that I know of."

He nods and then gracefully sits up on his knees and looks down at me. I have to swallow a gasp at the sight of him fully naked, fully erect and utterly glorious. The little dark patch of hair around his arousal is darker than the hair on his head but matches perfectly with the sprinkling of dark hair at the base of his throat that I liked so much. My mouth waters as I draw my eyes back over his lower half.

"Do you want to bolt? Is that it?"

My body practically springs up from the bed and my arms slide up and around his neck.

"No, that's not it. I think... well maybe I am actually a prude?" I offer playfully.

His beautiful mouth transforms into a grin and his arms slide around my waist to feel for the zip on the back of my dress.

"Ahh, well, that's easy fucking sorted."

He keeps his eyes on mine as he lowers the zip, his large warm hands gently grazing the skin of my back as he does. When it's all the way down he gathers the bottom of my dress in his hands and pulls it up and over my head in one swift move, before discarding it on the floor by the bed next to his T-shirt. I follow its journey to stare at it now in a green puddle on the floor.

"I have to put that back on you know," I say, bringing my eyes back to his and giving him a stern look.

"Yeah but not for hours yet." He sounds distracted as he draws his eyes over my body with a look of utter enthralment. It's like he's a million miles away but right here at the same time. His eyes look a few shades darker than they did a moment ago and his mouth is parted showing me a glimpse of his wet pink tongue. Christ, I want it on me. Why the hell didn't I open my legs when he asked me to? Stupid stupid woman.

He brings his hand up to my face, placing it on my left cheek, and grazes his thumb across my bottom lip. Then with a touch soft and firm at the same time he traces his hand down my neck, skimming it back and forth a few times before moving lower, across my chest, to the curve of my breast, my nipple. I gasp softly and he lifts his eyes to meet my own. As he begins to caress it my breathing speeds up and as he moves his thumb teasingly over the ever hardening nipple, a small desperate moan escapes from my mouth. Then he bends his head to capture it in his mouth, sucking hard as his beard grazes the hypersensitive skin around it. It's so good that I have to grab hold of his hair and pull on it hard just to balance out the intensity of the sensation. When he drops my nipple from his mouth and lifts his head again, his eyes are drunk with desire, but very quickly they turn serious, studious almost, and he brings his hand back to my body and begins to trace once more. It's then that I know what he's doing.

He's learning my form. Committing it to memory.

***

Aidan

All of the fantasies I'd had about her hadn't even come close. I can capture images and subjects in ways that won me awards. I'd had critics and experts tell me my imagination was brilliant; 'Nihilistically evocative' and 'painfully raw'. The kind of shit that made it sound like my imagination was good at something — which was in fact bullshit.Because I hadn't been able to imagine how perfect she'd be. I hadn't even gotten close to this. The scent of her against my nose, the taste of it against my tongue, the flutter of her pulse beneath her skin, the way the goosebumps raised on the hollow of her neck when I brushed my finger across it. I'd never seen goosebumps as perfect as hers. I caused a physical reaction in her body and it was fucking life-affirming.

Had anything in my life felt as perfect as when she'd orgasmed around my cock? If it had I couldn't think of it now.

She'd used me for her pleasure and I was only happy to oblige. I'd let her use me for her pleasure until she tired of me. Until I was worth nothing anymore and she chucked me aside. Nothing mattered except this. Her.

The skin of her breasts is smooth and soft, and my hand looks large and dirty against the pale perfection of them. As I bend down to taste them again she slides her fingers into my hair and pulls gently as a soft moan escapes out of her. The noise feels like something from a dream or a fantasy. A poorly constructed one obviously, but not of this reality in any case.

As I straighten my body so that we're both on our knees facing one another again, I find her staring back at me with the kind of longing I had imagined in my fantasy - the only thing my imagination had seemingly got right. Eloise Airens wants me. Finally.

It makes me want to force her down, flip her over, and take her like some wild fucking animal triumphant in its glory, but right now was about something else.

"Lie down," I say. She doesn't hesitate to obey me, settling herself on her back beneath me. She doesn't know what to do with her legs but decides to slide them between one of my legs before smiling up at me, shy. As I drink in the sight of her I know then that I'll never be able to capture her properly on the canvas. It just isn't possible. Her kind of perfection could only be hinted at in film. I'd suspected it before but I'm certain of it now.

"Now what are you going to do with me?" She asks.

"What I want to do you'd never agree to so never mind."

"Because I'm a prude?" She giggles. "I thought you were going to sort that?"

"I want to photograph you."

"You already did." She looks confused. When I raise my eyebrows she gets my meaning.

"Oh," is what she says, swallowing. "Aidan, I don't know..."

"No need to decide now," I tell her. "Right now I have other things — way more important things — that I want to do to you..."

For the next hour, I trace the entirety of her body with my hands. Noting every freckle, every ridge, every spot that makes her prickle, writhe, and gasp (her hip bone, behind her knee, the valley on the inside of her elbow, her belly button, the side of her breast). She moans and gasps and giggles throughout. Giggling as I circle the palm of her foot, moaning as I scrape my thumb over her pert pink nipple, arching up off the bed as my fingers dance close to the hot space between her thighs. I can feel the warmth from it against my fingers.

"Please, Aidan," she surrenders, finally.

"Please what?" I say, focusing hard on the freckle at the top of her thigh, reaching down to flick it with my tongue.

"Please stop torturing me," she breathes.

I chuckle. "This is torture?" I touch my mouth to the apex of her thigh and inhale. She can wait. Like I'd waited for 13 years.

She groans a frustrated sound. "You know what I mean." She peers down at me, biting the side of her hand gently. I wonder if it's to stop her screaming my name again.

"I don't think I do. Tell me." She begins to flail her legs frustratedly but I clamp my hands down on them to stop her moving. Then I shift my body so that I'm pinning her beneath me. "Tell me what you want, Eloise."

"Stop it, Aidan." She tries to sound annoyed but it just comes out breathy and husky. Before I've even thought about it I climb up her body and grab her arms and pin them above her head. Then with my knee, I nudge open her legs and settle myself between them. She's still warm and sticky from earlier and a flare of pride shoots through me. I've been here. I did that. My cock presses against her opening, needy, desperate to be back inside her. Which it will be as soon as she begs me for it.

"Stop what?" I ask, pressing my mouth to the side of her neck to nibble at her softly. She tastes like heat and summer and a sort of forbidden-ness that I'd liken to stealing whisky from the high cupboard when I was twelve. And like that brown shitting poison, as Niamh called it, hers is a taste that I'll never tire of either.

As I edge the tip of my cock into her slightly her eyes widening as a breath breaks free of her throat. "Stop this?"

"No," she gasps as her eyes close over. "Don't stop that, please don't stop that." She angles her body eager to take me deeper inside her, and it takes all of my control not to give it to her. This is real. She's beneath me, around me, and the moment I reach down to kiss her and she slides her tongue into my mouth, she's inside me. I hover my body on the outskirts of hers as I kiss her, then, with some reluctance, I pull my head up.

"Tell me why you were crying."

She blinks in surprise before shaking her head. "I don't know, Aidan. I can't explain, I don't know."

"Try," I press myself inside her a little more, teasing her, torturing her. Her moan is distracting. It lights me up inside and makes me want to push all the way in. But the image of her tear-stained face after I fucked her is fighting it for prominence.

"Not now, Aidan, please," she begs. Her head drops back onto the pillow and her gaze attaches claw-like with mine. "I promise I'll try later. Now I just need this... you... please."

Then, because I doubt I could ever deny her anything, I obey. Sliding myself inside her with one long slow push which makes her moan and gasp simultaneously.

This time I say her name. But It's not a scream. It almost sounds melodic as it sings out of my throat.

Her body grips me hard from the inside, massaging me, pulling me deeper, the movement of her hips a cruel and blissful torture. My hands itch to touch her and so letting go of her wrists, I slide one hand around the back of her neck and hold her in place as I pull her down harder onto my cock.

"Fuck, Eloise," I grit through clenched teeth.

When she yelps loudly I worry that I've hurt her again with the force of my thrust, and so I soften my movements and bring my mouth to kiss and lick at the base of her throat and neck as though in apology as I breathe her in. Her skin emits a faint sort of coconut scent mixed with the smell of wild-growing flowers. Not the ones you get from a florist, but those you'd find hidden in the dark corners of forests or at the very bottom of overgrown gardens. I feel her legs wrap around me and pull me closer into her body as she seeks out my mouth with her own. The idea of going softly and slowly with her seems again to get pushed to one side, as I feel her nails dig into my shoulders and a deep moan bleed from her mouth into mine she kisses me.

With my free hand, I feel down her body to her breast and grip it tightly, relishing the feeling of having every part of her completely in my possession. Gripped suddenly with the image of how she'd look spread out under me as I fuck her, I shift. Eloise moans in displeasure as I break away from her mouth, but I ignore it and kneel up over her while keeping myself planted deep inside her. I slide both hands down over her body, thumbs scraping over her nipples which are hard and pink under my fingers, and bring my hands down to grip both her hips. She peers up at me, eyes glassy but focused firmly on mine. Her cheeks and the tops of her breasts have taken on a luscious pink colour which looks glorious against the pale of her skin. It makes me think of strawberries and cream.

As I continue moving into her, pushing, circling, pulling, pushing, I focus on every ridge and cushion of the inside of her body, learning it, memorising it as I'd done with the outside. She keeps her eyes on me the entire time, looking serene and calm except when her orgasm begins to near. To signal it, her breath catches in her throat and she raises one hand above her head to grip the pillow, arching her body upwards.

"Harder please..." she pants. "...I'm going to... god, Aidan, yes.." she slides her free hand down her body, which is glimmering slightly from our exertions to the place where our bodies meet. First, she slides it up my body, placing it flat on my stomach, gently tickling the hairs there before her small fingers and short nails dig into the skin. When she moves her fingers to her clit and begins to circle it, I almost lose it entirely, gripping her hips harder and thrusting into her with everything I have.

It starts in my lower back, the deep vibration curling around me and up, the familiar tensing between my legs as I fuck her harder and faster. I place my hand on the base of her throat to watch her as she comes around my cock; gentle, soft, wet little clenches pulling me over the edge with her. She does not attempt to close her eyes or look away from me as she climaxes. The second time I come inside Eloise Airens feels a lot like rapture. And I'm not even religious.

She's lying on her side, her hands prayer-like under her cheek as she stares at me. Her oval blue eyes look mellow and relaxed. I'd never seen them look so blue or so soft. They always seemed to be in shadow, like she was holding something weighty and painful behind them she was afraid people would see. But they don't look like that now. Did I do that?

My position is much the same, my eyes on hers, my body facing hers. Except my hands are busier. My right is stroking the outside of her left arm as my left tinkers with the hair on the crown of her perfect head. She looks beautiful after being fucked. She was always beautiful, but now, her skin flushed with exertion, her eyes glittering with latent pleasure, she looks like a flower in full bloom in the height of summer.

"Tell me why you were crying." I keep my voice soft and my eyes away from hers in the hope that it will make it easier for her to talk to me.

"I didn't even know I was until you told me."

She didn't know? How was that even possible? I nod, keeping my gaze impassive as I focus on the freckle just above her elbow. It's small, smaller than the one in the hollow of her neck but larger than the one behind her ear.

She takes a deep breath. "I had an awful toothache once, a few years ago, before I got married. The kind that makes you think that maybe you'll give beheading a go? Has to be better." From the corner of my eye, I see the side of her mouth lift into the semblance of a smile. My mouth does the same. I have no idea where she's going with this. It could be a distraction technique for all I know, but there's something about the lilt and tone of her voice that makes me think different.

"It was the most excruciating pain I'd ever experienced. But I didn't cry. You remember how when you're little, pain and loss are the only things that make you cry? But then you get older, and the idea of crying over physical pain seems pointless. Trivial almost. Maybe because you know it makes no difference, I don't know..." she scrapes a bit of hair away from her face and I stop moving my hand to simply watch her, engrossed completely in the sound of her voice, the slow relaxed movement of her chest, the depth of her words. "Except of course we still cry over loss too even though it's also pointless. We still grieve for something lost even though it makes no difference whatsoever - it's just a natural reaction I guess. A side effect. I don't know. God, I'm blabbering." She shakes her head again. "Anyway, when I finally got to the dentist the following day I looked at him as this sort of holy figure. He was just a man of course, but to me, he was the only person on earth who could stop the pain." She meets my gaze then and I think I stop breathing. "The instant he stuck that needle into me and the pain slowly began to disappear, was the most indescribable bliss I'd ever known. It was gone in an instant. I was human again. I was more than just this body whose sole purpose was to suffer. I swear I'd have had his children if he'd asked me. That's how grateful I was." She swallows and takes a deep breath. "I didn't realise I was crying until the dental assistant handed me a tissue. I guess it was relief. Relief from the pain. From suffering. I don't know." She drops her eyes to the point where my throat meets my chest.

I'm not a guy who looks for hidden meanings in things. Which is ironic since people constantly accuse me of hiding meanings in my work — which I don't. So, being the literal person that I am, I want to take what she's just said literally. Was I the dentist or the needle? Both? Did I relieve her of the pain? What pain? Who caused it, her cunt of a husband?

"Did that make any sense at all?" she asks me, voice uncertain.

"I think so." I want to kiss her again. I drop my eyes to her mouth.

She sighs, relieved. "Good. I'm not great at articulating myself sometimes. The written word always works better for me."

"I think you articulate perfectly. But what do I know? I talk with my hands." I smile. Her cheeks tighten and her nose wrinkles with an adorable sort of smirk. When she takes a deep breath I think she's about to begin articulating perfectly again but she doesn't. She just settles her body a little deeper into the bed. My bed.

After a few beats of comfortable but heavy silence, it occurs to me what's missing. I'd never normally go this long without it. I hate silence, normally. But this wasn't normal. Nothing about this was normal. And though I'm content with just the sounds of her breathing and the soft random 'mmmm's' and 'aahs' that come when I touch a particularly sensitive part of her body, I can't think of a single situation that isn't enhanced by music. Careful not to jostle her, I slide off of the bed.

"Where are you going?" She sounds put out, and when I turn to look at her she's raised herself to sit and is holding the white sheet to cover her perfect breasts. Her attempt at modesty makes me smile. Considering I'd had them in my mouth ten minutes ago.

"Back in a second. Want anything while I'm up?"

"I don't know, do I want anything while you're up?"

"Well, are you hungry?" I ask. "I'm fucking starving." I give her a loaded look to which she rolls her eyes but there's no hiding the small tremble that wavers over her. I'm not lying though. I am starving.

"I ate before I came," she tells me without a hint of irony.

I smirk. "Did you now?"

Her laugh is girlish and musical. "You're filthy. Totally filthy."

"Oh, you have no fucking idea..." I mutter as I walk away. The weight of her stare on me as I go is hot and heavy.

I'd never given much thought to how I'd feel after I'd been with her. Not in all the years, I'd fantasised about it, about her. I'd never quite got to this place. I'd never quite what the aftermath would feel like. Aftermath was the wrong word, aftermath denoted some kind of devastation. What I feel now is almost the opposite of that. I feel a kind of completeness, a kind of calm weightlessness. The kind of deep satisfaction I normally only got when I'd finished something I'd been working my arse off on and was happy with how it had turned out. The same sort of feeling I got after catching up on sleep after the worst kind of jet-lag. That was on the surface. Beneath was where the darkness lingered. Reminding me of the transience of this moment. The fragility of it. If I moved too quickly it could disappear or break.

My knees crack as I bend down in front of the record player and run my finger along the edges of the shelf until I find what I'm looking for. The cover is simple; rough embossed white sleeve with an illustration of a black stag singing birds from its mouth. I practically wore this album out when I first came across it a few years ago. It had helped me finish the video installation when not much else could. It helped me not drink myself to death as I finished the video installation. They were the darkest six months of my life quite frankly but this album was light and soothing and had always helped balance out the black of my mood to some kind of grey. My mood isn't black right now, but this album still feels like the perfect soundtrack to this moment.

As the sound starts to float out of the speakers I go to the kitchen and pull out a handful of small cherry tomatoes from the fridge. I have an obsession with eating them whole. The sensation as they burst on my tongue and the juice runs down my throat. I eat these the way other people eat grapes. Always have. I get my 4 of my five a day from cherry fucking tomatoes.

A lingering look in the fridge tells me I'll have to go downstairs and get her food if and when she gets hungry. All I have are these, some milk and some bottles of beer. There's some suspect looking cheese there as well but fucked if I'm feeding her that.

When I get back into the bedroom she's lying flat on her back staring up at the skylight deep in thought, her hand draped elegantly above her head, the white sheet covering her small form artfully. It looks like she's floating there in the calm of my large bed. As I cross towards it I let the sight sink in.

Eloise Airens waiting naked in my bed for me. How the fuck did I pull that off? She turns her head and draws a hungry appreciative look down my body, my cock stirring as her gaze reaches it, ready and eager to please.

When she looks back up to my eyes and bites her lip, her expression more serious, I think it's because she's regretting everything and that she can't stand the sight of me and that she wants to bolt. But then she smiles. It's warm and soft and it makes my entire body relax again. So thoughtful Eloise makes me tense and scared now, whereas before it just made me curious and hopeful.

"Are you getting back in?" She asks. "Or shall I get up?"

I frown. "Why would I want you to get up?"

"Well, don't we have a piece of art to finish?"

I walk towards the bed, desperate to be near her again, scared if I give her too much time alone her mind might wander back uptown to her husband. I kneel, the bed dipping under my weight, and climb over her smaller body as I swallow the last piece of soft fleshy tomato.

"No, we don't."

She looks confused. "What?"

"I'm giving you the day off."

She grins. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really. What can I say, I'm a really good boss."

"You know, technically, I'm your boss," she points out. "I think you're forgetting who's paying who."

"Shit. That's right. I always forget that bit. Guess you're in charge then. Where do you want me?"

She blushes and her eyes widen before she turns her head away from me, shy. With my finger under her chin, I tilt her head back to face me. Then I flick my eyes down her body between her legs and run my tongue over my bottom lip.

"Such a fucking prude," I chuckle. She narrows her eyes at me playfully. "Can you even say it?"

"I can say it..."

"Go on then," I smirk as I move to position my head between her legs. She opens her mouth then slams it shut and shakes her head.

"Okay, I can't. I can't say it. I am a prude..." she's giggling but it peters out as I push open her thighs and fix her with a look of intent.

"I told you, we'll sort it," I tell her. "Now stop moving, I'm fucking starving."

***

Eloise

His body is magnificent. Every part of it constructed for pleasure. My pleasure. He'd used almost every part of it over the last few hours to convince me of that.

His eyes he'd spoken to me with. Deep, hot carnal thoughts seeped from them into mine, hypnotising me, making me do his bidding with them. I'd always been powerless against them, and it seemed here in the comfort of his large soft bed they seemed to be at their most powerful.

His mouth he'd tortured me with. Licking and kissing every single inch of me I'm sure (parts I doubt Oliver had seen let alone tasted). He'd brought me to orgasm over and over again, loud and wild between the twisted white sheets of his bed. When he'd pressed his tongue against the pocket behind my knee I'd broken out into a fit of giggles, surprised and curious that he'd found a spot of my body which was ticklish - I'd always maintained I wasn't.

His arms he'd held me down with. Firm and secure as he'd moved his powerful lean body into mine. Large and strong at the shoulders they tapered down into no less strong veined forearms.

Hands which had traced the entirety of my body. Long-fingered graceful hands which had roamed the nooks and crannies of my 5"6ft form studiously. As though he were a blind man reading braille. I wonder what story my body was telling him.

Harlot. Adulteress. Bored housewife.

I'm not sure which of those I prefer.

At least the first two had a bizarre kind of glamour to them. At least they contrived me to be an active, moving, conscious thing. Even if I don't feel like it. I feel like a vessel of pleasure. Mine. His.

I feel like a soft, yielding thing, groggy and malleable from too much indulgence. I feel cherished, pampered and content — and it terrifies me. I can't remember the last time I'd felt this kind of contentment. This kind of pain-free existence. I know I should feel guilt about what I've done. Oceans of it. But I don't. I feel only the after effects of Aidan's body wringing pleasure from mine.

If Oliver found out I would apologise, of course. Beg and plead for his forgiveness, tell him I knew I'd done a terrible thing. Yet I can't begin to understand why none of what is happening now, or had happened, felt in the least bit terrible or in need of forgiveness. The episode in the bathroom last night had felt worse somehow. Perhaps because we might have been caught. Perhaps because I hadn't been fully conscious when it had happened. It felt out of my control. But then, this too felt out of my control. But in a different way altogether. I could not have stopped this even if I wanted to. Which I didn't. Which I don't.

Aidan had pinned me to the wall and tore my underwear off but he had given me the chance to stop it, which I hadn't done. He'd put the decision in my hands. I'd decided.

My stomach clenches at the reminder of the thrill of the sound and feel of that expensive fabric being torn to shreds by Aidan's hands.

I glance down my body to where his head is now, the crown of his chestnut hair tousled and most definitely 'just-fucked'

I did that. There's pride in it.

My hands move slowly and lazily through his hair as he breathes softly against my stomach. He's been down there for about ten minutes just staring at the space between my legs, tracing a hand across the faint but large freckle on my thigh. After making me come he'd lifted his head, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and then began moving up my body. But then he seemed to change his mind and settled where he was right there. He hasn't moved since.

His long legs are stretched out at a skewed angle so that I can see the whole of his body from where I am. His penis is resting across his muscled thigh, golden and smooth against the dark hair peppering the top of his legs. I'd never found penises particularly edible before. Aidan's is. Maybe because it's new and therefore slightly exotic, and I'd never been afraid of tasting or trying new things. I'm an avid olive lover and had been from the outset. I hadn't needed to acquire the taste like some people I know do. I adore oysters and any kind of shellfish that other people (less adventurous people) often find repugnant. About the same length as Oliver's, it's just slightly wider but certainly prettier overall. In any case, I like Aidan Foley's penis. I have yet to taste it but it certainly feels good inside me. As magnificent and talented as the rest of him.

"This is beautiful, what is it?" I ask, my eyes close to closing. Instantly, I regret speaking and ruining the dreamlike atmosphere of the quiet bedroom.

"Low Roar," he says simply.

It occurs to me that he may not know what I was asking and that 'low roar' refers to my voice. Seems a little abstract though, even for him.

"It's beautiful," I repeat pointlessly.

"They're from Iceland. Glad you like it." He sounds deep in thought, miles away. Maybe he's in Iceland. I want him closer to me.

I slide my hands deeper into his hair and then down to the soft hair at the back of his neck, kneading softly in the hope it will entice him closer. That familiar loneliness I feel after sex lingers, but it doesn't feel as intense as it usually does. I feel closer to Aidan than I have to Oliver in months. Than I have to anyone in months.

As I continue to stroke my fingers through his hair and across his neck he makes soft pleasured noises from the back of his throat, like the soft purr of a cat. When I glance down I see the definite signs of movement in his pretty penis.

When I drop my hand to his cheek and stroke my fingers through his facial hair, he turns and in one quick movement, he's crawling up the bed over me and kissing me. Deep long strokes of his tongue against mine as he breathes and moans and pushes his body onto mine. Yes. This is better.

He tugs gently at my nipple, which is hard but hardens further at his touch. Against my thigh, I feel him lengthen and harden, hot and thick.

"Mmmmmm," he breathes. "I really want to photograph you like this, here, naked, smelling of me."

My womb clenches tightly, goosebumps breaking out over the uncovered parts of my body. The parts not covered by him. I think I want that too. When he suggested it earlier I'd half recoiled in terror, trying to ignore the creep of suspicion. I'd immediately imagined some portfolio with pages of naked women sprawled out on his bed. The thought had made my fingers curl with envy but hadn't made me want him any less. Now I was malleable enough, drunk on him enough, that I'd likely agree to anything he asked.

"Ok, " I whisper against his mouth.

He pulls his head up. He looks surprised, I think. Aroused, definitely.

"You serious?" He asks, the deep carnal look in his eye hypnotising me further.

I nod. "But no exhibiting them at any show. Ever. I'm totally with your sister on this one."

His mouth twitches with a brief smile before he rolls his eyes and groans. "Fucking hell, did you have to mention my sister? Talk about a turn-off."

The still throbbing hardness at my thigh begs to differ. I push at him so that he falls onto his back, and then I climb over so that I'm straddling him. I drop my eyes straight down to his growing, veined, extremely pretty erection.

"I mean you don't look turned off," I say as curl my fingers around his length. "But maybe I can help you with that?"

His face goes very serious suddenly, his top teeth capturing his bottom lip and biting hard. When he speaks his voice is very low, very male, and very very Irish.

"Oh, I'm bloody certain you can," he says.

I smile at him as I lower my head. Suddenly I feel very very hungry.